Death Eaters and Their Games
by lucifer ravana
Summary: At the end of the war, Voldemort's Elite aren't willing to sit around and rot.


It was over. The war had ended. Dumbledore was dead. Potter was dead. What did the details really matter? Everything had fallen into place with the demise of the Old Man, and the loss of the Boy Who Lived killed off any hope the side of light could manage to hold onto. Those who opposed the Dark Lord were killed off, the traitors were dead at long last, and the Death Eaters had been given free reign of nearly all of the wizarding world.

Granted there were a few sections blocked off from them. But they were small and insignificant and, for the most part, chose to remain neutral. They wanted and needed no wars so Voldemort had left them alone.

Walden Macnair finished loading up his gun. A Muggle weapon that he normally despised but in these days, he found it to be more useful than a wand. The gun allowed him to make sure his target was hit whilst covering long distance ranges. That was what he needed right now, for he had been given one of the hardest assignments he had ever been faced with.

His target? Mulciber. The red haired psychopath that lurked throughout this one particular town. Macnair knew that Mulciber was after him as well, for the madman knew that the orders had been put out. Now, it was a kill or be killed world and Macnair was determined not to go down.

He slipped out from behind the building, stalking silently and cautiously close to the wall. Luckily, it was dark. The best time to hunt and he could use it to cloak him. But this was Mulciber. The man was more an animal than a human.

His scent could be detected, he knew. But gods, he had never before felt this sort of thrill. Hunting such a wild beast as this creature that moved lightning fast with a powerful maw and claws that could tear a man to shreds. Mulciber was armed as well with a Muggle gun. One that, Macnair hoped, he had not a clue to use.

Seeing no sign of his quarry, Macnair took off down the street, latching onto a fire escape and making his way up to the roof. From a high enough vantage point, he could see a bit further. Mulciber wouldn't leave this town, he knew. Mulciber never ran from a fight. All Macnair needed now was a glimpse, a sign of the blood red hair that always indicated Mulciber's presence.

What he saw was silver.

Lucius. It could be no other. His mate was spotted heading down the road, reading one of his many novels, more than likely on the Dark Arts, not bothering to take notice of what was happening around him. Macnair knew he didn't have to shout out a warning. Not only would that betray his position but this was Lucius and Lucius being Voldemort's lover was off limits to all Death Eaters no matter how powerful they tried to become.

From across the street, at the corner, Macnair saw Mulciber all too late. The redhead aimed his gun at the Malfoy and fired. Macnair could only stare in shock as red seemed to flow from Lucius' back, the blond falling forwards. His first impulse was to go to his friend and he quickly swallowed down that feeling. He had a mission to accomplish and Mulciber had just given away his coordinates.

Macnair levitated himself down from the building and gave chase. He could easily see Mulciber running ahead. He had one shot to take and he would take it and he would bloody succeed! Aiming his gun, a hard task as he was still running for the man, he squeezed the trigger.

Mulciber fell forwards, the shot catching him right in the back. Macnair saw his prey hit the ground hard and in that instant, Walden was upon him.

"What the fuck were you thinking, you stupid sonofabitch? Lucius is off limits!" He bellowed at the psycho. Mulciber merely groaned, his back a mess of red.

"You idiots!" That voice was most certainly not Mulciber's. Macnair looked up to see the glowering spectre of Lucius Malfoy.

He could only give his friend an innocent grin. "Oops?" Mulciber sat up, a bit of drool escaping from his lip.

"This coat is Italian! You've got paint on it! Cleaning spells don't always work with paint!"

Macnair held up his hands in a placating gesture. "It's washable, don't worry! It'll come out."

Still annoyed but no worse for wear, Lucius turned on his heel and left the duo where they sat. Walden turned to his comrade. "I won this time."

Ah, paintball. One of the finer sports in life.


End file.
